


Of Muffins, Coffee and Other Miracles

by Anika_Ann



Series: What We Could Have, But We'll Never Reach - Reader Inserts [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: And He’s Cocky, Author Creating OFCs to Feed Stray Vigilantes Since 2017, Baking, F/M, Fluff, Identity Porn, Landman and Zack Internship, Let’s Overdose with Fluff, Matt Is a Vigilante A Little Sooner, Muffins, Pre-Series, Reader-Insert, Rooftop Vigilante Slumber Parties, Yeah I Know The Tags Aren't Making Any Sense But They Actually Are, get-together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 07:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15262542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: You’re a secretary at Landman and Zack, having an office on the same floor as the interns. You notice one of them (which you might and might not have a crush on) seems down lately, so you decide to cheer him up the only way you can come up with.You bake muffins; right after your life is saved by a cheeky vigilante.





	1. Of muffins, cheeky vigilantes and sad interns

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, let’s have another reader-insert, this time in two parts. They are getting crazier and more ridiculous with each work, but I’m having fun.

You stared at the two unconscious men at his feet, still perfectly shocked, but relieved, pressing your handbag to your chest.

You were slowly leaving your place by the wall – more like _in_ the wall, because you had been trying to merge with it even since the two men had backed you into it, pulling out their knives and demanding your handbag. That had been before _this guy_ had appeared and put them in a line – and you were pretty sure he put some of their bones _out_ of their natural line, but you couldn’t find yourself to care.

“You… thank you. How— you… saved my life,” you stuttered, watching the man in a black mask wince as if he only now realized you were there.

“You’re welcome,” he said, voice pleasantly low-pitched, looking in your direction. “Though I’m not sure it would go that far, if you have just given him your handbag.”

“Well, I couldn’t do that,” you exclaimed, automatically drawing the item closer to your chest.

He took two cautious steps to you, easing his fighter stance. “I know it would be a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy, but for future reference, it would be much better if you just gave it up.”

“I couldn’t. There’s a… there’s a secret recipe.”

“… a recipe. You… couldn’t have let go of your handbag because of a recipe. You’re joking,” he stated, and the little of his face you could see, free of the fabric of his mask, seemed shocked. And maybe a little amused. How would you know, you could only see his jaw. And lips – their corners were quirked inconspicuously, so yeah, definitely amused.

Well, at least you made him smile since he had saved you and all.

“It’s important! There’s this guy in my work and— never mind. Forget I said anything. I mean… beside the thank you. Wow, babbling is _not_ my usual reaction for stress.”

“Well, if that makes you feel better I don’t usually chat with people I help out,” he exclaimed with a shrug, making you raise your eyebrows.

“So why do you now?” _Not that I complain._

He shrugged again, coming a little closer again. “Nowhere to be. And you seem fun.”

Huh. Who would think a guy in a mask, lurking in a dark, would be such a nice person? He seemed genuine. You had no idea where he picked up the idea of you being _fun_ , but guess he didn’t meet woman protecting their handbags for recipes every night. Did he do that every night? Was that a thing?

You shook off the thoughts. “…thanks, I guess?”

“So, guy at work?” He smiled suggestively, clearly teasing you. You just gaped.

“Oh my god, I’m not talking about that with… with _a masked guy!_ And… and it’s not like that,” you protested, questioning your own claim. Maybe?

“Really? So why that blush?”

You quickly checked you cheeks with your hand. “I don’t-“ You never blushed. You doubted you were now and your cheeks felt just normal— that little shit. “You know, for a guy who lurks in a dark, you are sure pretty cocky.”

_And for a near assault victim, I am pretty chatty and easy-going._

“People also say I’m a good listener,” he offered nonchalantly, gentle smile on his lips.

You were not doing this, right? You wouldn’t just load that on a complete stranger? Then again, he was _a complete stranger_ , so he couldn’t tell anyone who knew you. Huh.

“…it’s not like that. I mean, yeah, he’s… handsome, but… he’s… I barely know him, but he’s just really nice, you know? Like…” You licked your lips, finally letting the handbag rest on its usual place. “The kind of a guy who would help you to pick up your stuff, even if he wouldn’t be the one who ran into you. And the other day, I saw him telling a joke to someone who seemed down, but usually is a bitch to him. He’s the guy who would hold the elevator for you. Just… really nice. And lately… he seemed down himself. Not even his friend can cheer him up. So… yeah.”

“So… you decided to… cook something for him. For this… nice guy,” he summed up your monologue, looking a bit confused.

“Yeah. My friend met me at the bar and gave her secret recipe for the best muffins in the world. I already bought the ingredients, guessing, but I didn’t pick up on the vanilla beans.”¨

“That’s really nice of you.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m saving his life,” you said, giving him a significant look. Why were you smiling? You just almost got mugged! And you were chatting with a man who just broke someone’s bones! To be fair, he was really likeable. Called you fun _and_ nice. Not something you were used to.

“He could be depressed. So maybe you are.”

You couldn’t help but smile wider. “Maybe. Though he probably gets bagels every morning… never mind. …And you know what, you _are_ a good listener. But I should go. Got work to do.”

“Sure. Good luck with your… baking,” he wished you, grinning like a goddamned child. Was it really so amusing?

“If I have some spares, I’ll leave them on a rooftop for you,” you decided, freezing after you realized what you said. “A _random_ rooftop! I wouldn’t want a masked guy to know where I live.”

He laughed. He honest to god _laughed_. “Of course. Go, I’ll call the police to pick those guys.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

\---

You barely managed to sneak into the interns’ office – office? More like a _closet_ – and make it out before they appeared behind a corner. These two guys started there recently, but you instantly liked them. The one with blond hair was smiling most of the time, a cheery smile that made you smile back even when you were busy and nearly harassed by your boss a minute before; the other one, the dark-haired, had a gentler smile, a warming one – and you hadn’t seen much of it lately. If you were honest, you thought his idealism was being crushed; he _was_ incredibly nice and polite to everyone as far as you saw him interact with people and you were sure that a firm like Landman and Zack wasn’t a place for his fragile soul-- and now you were just projecting.

The pair fell into their closet office and you released the breath you were holding. You resisted the urge to listen in with your ear at the door. It turned out, you didn’t have to; most of the offices were empty due to the lunch break and blond man – okay, yeah, you heard him introduce himself as Foggy, which was ridiculous, but kinda cute – was very loud.

“Matt, a muffin.”

You bit your lip, a little nervous about not hearing Matt’s reaction.

“Matt, I swear to God, there is a muffin on your table. With a note on a toothpick in it and it says— oh. That’s just mean. Why would someone give a muffin on your desk only to tempt you?” Foggy sounded bewildered and a little hurt.

You giggled to your palm. You had left a written note saying: ‘Don’t you dare to touch it, you, who are reading this.’

The trick was in leaving one more note – in braille. ‘Feel better and be happy. The offices are too dark without your smile. Enjoy.’

Which was an idiotic lie, because the offices were all glass and steel, having too much light most of the time, but the message was clear, you hoped. Not to mention Matt wouldn’t be able to tell. Because he was… well, blind. Which meant he couldn’t read the note not directed at him, but could read his own.

You sneaked from your office, coming a little closer, listening in.

“Dude, your face. Why do I have a feeling the braille version says something different?”

You smiled for yourself, hoping to cause at least a little rise of Matt’s lips while he was reading his personal note (it was a bitch to use the braille printer without no one noticing, okay, you were kinda proud of yourself). His response was quieter, but you pricked your ears and heard it.

“Because it does.”

Later, you were trying hard not to stare too blatantly when they passed your office the next time, but you caught a glimpse anyway. Matt was smiling. Brightly.

\---

 _“This is so stupid, I’m crazy, I’m the craziest person to ever walk this Earth…”_ you were muttering as you laid a plate with two muffins in the middle of the rooftop. _“If anyone’s gonna eat it, it’s gonna be Frank from 2B when coming to have a smoke. Or pigeons…”_

“Did the nice guy like his muffin?” sounded a voice from behind you and you jumped ten feet above— well, not. You literally fell on your ass, yelping in shock, your hand trying to keep your heart inside your ribcage. “Hey, easy there.”

You spun slowly to the source of the pleasant male voice, only to find a man, dressed in nothing but black. With a mask on, naturally.

“Not sure. Maybe I just helped him to have a heart attack sooner. But I can ask him if he’s looking for one and refer him to you,” you complained, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, easing your hand down.

_Jesus._

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He offered you a gloved hand to help you up. But it was a warm night and forgetting the fact your pants would be no doubt terribly dirty from the concrete, you were actually fine sitting there. You patted on the other side of the plate instead. He hesitated.

“For some reason I don’t believe you,” you exclaimed darkly. “I’m not sure you deserve these…”

“They’re really for me?”

A shy smile appeared on his lips – you really needed to stop focusing on people’s lips, it was creepy, but to be fair, this guy wasn’t offering many things to go on and staring at his body tightly wrapped in black probably wasn’t much better. He lowered himself elegantly, sitting down on the offered place.

“I figured that you might appreciate it and you’ll burn the calories easily. And since I baked six of those…”

“Thanks.” He tentatively took off his gloves, reaching for one of the muffins. He took a bite.

You blinked in surprise at his trust. “They could be poisoned.”

He froze. “You wouldn’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“No one who bakes a muffin just to cheer up a guy they barely know would try to poison me,” he reasoned, his confidence almost unshaken.

“I could have just made the story up. Or bake two batches, poison one of them and lay a trap.”

He frowned, taking another bite easily. “That sounds like an awfully lot of work, considering pigeons might have eaten this. Or Frank from 2B.”

“You— you heard that?” you asked, surprised.

“I have good ears. And taste buds. This is really good.”

“I’m glad. Maybe one day I can quit my soul-crushing job, steal all of my friend’s recipes and open a bakery. The Hell’s Bakery… in Hell’s Kitchen.”

He chuckled, the sound so light that it made you wonder how the hell this guy was a vigilante. Shouldn't he be like… dark and broody? _I am batman, I’m the night?_

“I would be a regular. I promise.”

You couldn’t help but smile as he finished the muffin and licked his thumb.

“He’s a lucky guy, you know. Having you to look out for him,” he offered casually.

“I told you, it’s not like that…” you repeated, though you were less and less convinced it was the truth. “…and he doesn’t know it was me.”

“You didn’t give it to him?” he sounded shocked. You thought he might have raised his eyebrows. “Just leaving it? Why?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want him to feel… obligated to be grateful or something. Plus, me noticing he’s smiling less than usual? It’s a little creepy, I imagine. It’s better if I stay anonymous.”

“Huh. You really weren’t trying to… get his attention, were you?” He seemed genuinely surprised. Was it really that strange? “Why? Not your type? Have eyes on someone else?”

 _“Not my type…”_ you repeated lowly. “I think he’s _everybody’s_ type.” He tilted his head curiously. “I don’t.”

“But?”

“But nothing. He’s… he’s him. I bet he has someone. He has this whole…” you gestured vaguely with your hands as if it could mean something. It did. To you. “…charming, take-me-home aura.”

“Take-me-home aura?” he parroted, bewildered.

“It’s hard to-“ you stopped in the middle of the sentence, realizing the absurdity of the situation. Muffins. Late night. Dim lights. Boy problems. “Oh god, I’m having a slumber party with a vigilante on a rooftop. I really am crazy.”

“Do you want to braid hair?” he suggested with that boyish grin you remembered from yesterday. “I’m no good at painting nails, but I rock at braiding.”

You looked at him incredulously, watching him for what could be a minute. Then you burst out laughing.

“I believe you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’m very picky about who I let touch my hair.”

“Uh-huh Okay. What does take-me-home aura mean? Take home and..?”

“And snuggle him…” you hummed, thoughtful. “Or rip his clothes off, sometimes it’s hard to decide. Probably both in the right order.”

“Oh.”

You burst out laughing once more when seeing him so taken aback. Well, you _thought_ he looked taken aback.

“Oh god, you look so spooked. I’m not gonna do that to you, _or him_. Have a muffin.”

He pouted, but relaxed and reached for his comfort food. “I’m not… spooked. It’s just… why don’t you?”

“Because I’m pretty sure dragging someone into my home and ripping their clothes off is a _crime,”_ you emphasized, even thought the irony was lost on this guy, since he _was_ acting outside the law. Matt, on the other hand… was a _lawyer_.

“You could just ask him out.”

The smile froze on your lips. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, right. I forgot you don’t know me very well and you don’t know whom I’m talking about. He’s… like… waaaay out of my league. Professionally speaking – one day, I’m sure – and with his looks too.”

He nibbled his muffin, looking thoughtful. It was incredibly cute. “You said he was nice. I’m sure he wouldn’t turn you down.”

“A pity date. Yay for me.”

“…you don’t have very high opinion of yourself, do you?”

You shrugged. “I’m a realist.”

He set his muffin down, turning to you with his whole body. “I don’t have many references to your looks, since we’re meeting at night, but you seem like a great person and… I really don’t talk with people much. Not at all, if I can help it. But you’re easy to talk too. Even if it _was_ a pity date, I’m sure he would have a good time. And maybe you would find out he’s just a guy and forget there are some… _leagues_ or whatever,” he mimicked, sounding a little disgusted. He picked his muffin back, possibly to drown the bitterness of the word _league._

Oh my god, how was this guy even real? There was _no way_ he was _not_ chatting with all victims of crime he saved.

“Thanks— what do I call you? Give me something. I don’t expect your real name, secret identities and all, but… something.”

“Huh. I don’t know. Uhm…”

“If you don’t come up with something, I will,” you threatened, your mind racing. He would either have a terrible name, compensating with a nickname, or a plain name no one would look twice at.

“Go for it,” he challenged, licking the remains of chocolate of his lips. You observed him for a minute, wondering.

“Mm. Alright. Thank you for your encouraging words… Clark.”

“Clark? Like… Clark Kent?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, grinning. “Hero. Secret identity. Ripped. Sweet. Yeah, you’re Clark… you’re not wearing glasses to work, are you? Are you trying to look awkward, or better, invisible? Unnoticed? Are you a journalist?” you asked quickly to cover up the fact you blatantly told him he had hot body.

“I’m not a journalist,” he said slowly, looking a bit alarmed. Though he didn’t deny the rest.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop prying. But thanks. It’s… really sweet of you, but… I guess I’m too chicken to ask him out.”

The sentence lied heavily between you for few moments.

“…what if he asked you?”

You snorted. “Right. He doesn’t even know I exist, Clark. Doesn’t know my name.”

“Neither am I. And look at us, sitting on a rooftop, talking about boys.”

This time you laughed. “You just wriggled your eyebrows, didn’t you?”

“Maybe…” he played along mysteriously, before his smile softened. “Can I have your name?”

“Well, I guess there’s no point in denying you now know where I _live_ , so a name wouldn’t add much. But you know what? I chose yours. Choose mine.”

“…okay. Nice to meet you… Lois.” He extended his hand towards you, making your breath hitch.

“Nice to meet you, Clark.” You shake his hand, swallowing the nervousness his choice left you in. _The love interest?_ “Though I’m more of a Jimmy Olsen, don’t you think?” _The friend_.

He tensed, jerking to his feet, crouching, his head tilted. You almost had another heart attack at the sudden movement.

“I gotta go, I’m sorry. There’s… an assault a mugging in progress. But-“ he turned to you, his tense features softening a little, leaning into your space. “I chose the name on purpose.”

Then his freaking lips brushed your temple and he jogged away, jumping— jumping off the roof. You flied to your feet as well, running after him, checking he wasn’t a bloody smudge on the pavement. He wasn’t. You saw only a shadow several rooftops over. You brought your hand to the place his lips touched your skin, still shocked.

What the actual hell?

You stood on the rooftop for a very long time, staring at the city lights, still trying to process that _Clark_ had… pecked your temple. When you finally made it inside, you couldn’t fall asleep. After an hour of staring into the ceiling, you got up and… baked. Not wanting to bake the same stuff again, you improvised. You added cocoa powder, switched milk chocolate for dark and added some cherries you had bought the other day, hoping for an acceptable outcome.

When you had one of the muffins for breakfast, you came to conclusion it wasn’t half bad, packing one for lunch, counting on a zero lunch-break again. It turned out it was a good idea.

 

 

 


	2. Of coffee, brownies and- frack

“Wild night out?” male voice made you snap from your dozing and you straightened in your chair with a startle. Oh shit. Oh fuck, you were so fired.

You looked up at the man who addressed you, relieved it was only Foggy – one of the interns. He wouldn’t report you, right?

“Uhm… not sure I would call it wild, but… strange for sure.” Not every night you get to be kissed by a vigilante, even if only on your temple.

“It wasn’t drugs, right? Because drugs are bad,” he whispered, looking around for anyone to hear. You smiled at him tiredly.

“I know. Not… that kind of strange. What can I do for you… Foggy, right?”

“Yes!” he confirmed cheerfully, until his smile fell. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we were introduced. You’re…” he eyed the name on your desk, repeating it dutifully.

“That’s me,” you confirmed with a nod. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh! Right. My friend, Matt, he’s interning with me here, I’m sure you saw him around, he’s blind.” _Oh, I did see him around._ “Usually, he gets the copies of the files in braille, but today… whoever is the good soul doing it for him forgot or something and… I have no idea where to find a braille printer here and you seem to know your way around…? And you also look like you’re not gonna fire me for asking.”

You found yourself smiling in the presence of the cheerful man. “Only if you promise not to tell anyone I was basically sleeping.”

“Deal.”

“Thanks. You have the file? I can print it. Honestly, anyone who knows where to find that printer or how to _use_ it wouldn’t have the authority to fire you. Just send it to me and I’ll drop it in your… your…” you stuttered, unsure how to finished that sentence.

“You can say it. It’s a closet.”

“It is, isn’t it? But which one?” you played dumb, because… reasons. You shouldn’t have known where they were, you didn’t need it. Why would you? _Yeah, I’m sooo subtle…_

“Oh, the one down the hall.”

“Okay. Just e-mail me the file number and I’ll deliver.”

“Really? You’re amazing.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you laughed nervously. _Amazing_. You didn’t think – scratch that, you were sure your boss never called you that, and you were saving his life on daily basis; he wouldn’t even sign a paper unless you handed him the pen.

 “See, that’s where you’re wrong…” Foggy pronounced, pointing at you. Then he seemed to realize something. “You said not many people know where to find that printer?”

You shrugged. “Not really, I guess. It’s on the fourth floor, but it’s next to impossible to go there unnoticed by people guarding printers and they are bitch to talk to, so if you ever need anything just tell me, I’ll do it for you. I’m sure your life is enough depressing in that… cubicle.”

“Hm… okay, thanks a lot!” He spun on his heels, walking out.

Weird.

\---

Dropping off the files in the right closet, you were confronted with…  your crush. You might haven’t realized it before, but… yeah. You were confronted by Matt Murdock himself and you were suddenly very sure you _had a_ _crush_ on this man. _Crap_.

The thing was… he was his typical self, which meant… really charming. He stood up from his desk when thanking you, learning your name, shaking your hand. He gave you one of the nicest smile you ever seen, his grip firm, but gentle; you just stuttered when saying ‘nice to meet you’, stumbling out as quickly as possible, shaking your head over your own inability to communicate like a normal person.

One thing you noticed about Matt that day though was that he had a rather angrily looking gash next to his right eyebrow – whether he ran into a door or something else happened, you didn’t know. But you were glad you had baked the previous night, secretly leaving your backup lunch to ease the blind’s man pain.

You were stuck hungry because of that. You couldn’t make yourself regret it.

You were a hopeless case.

And a liar on top of that, because you had said it wasn’t ‘like that’ just few nights before. Perfect.

\---

It was raining that night, so you didn’t leave a snack for the vigilante who apparently kissed crime victim’s temples. Maybe the next night.

Or never, because he would avoid you forever, realizing that you were as far from his Lois Lane as you could be. Which was probably a good thing.

\---

You looked up from the screen at the sound of someone knocking. It was unusual – the door was always open, so people usually just waltzed in.

Matt freaking Murdock was standing in that open door, holding cane and a cup holder in one hand, his other hand on the glassy door. You blinked in surprise at the sight. And god, he was such a sight for your sore eyes…

“Anyone in?” he asked carefully and you fought the urge to face-palm. He couldn’t see you watching him – which might be a good thing, considering you were shamelessly _staring_.

“Yes! Hi, Matt. What can I do for you? Someone forgot to print case files again?” you wondered when you gathered yourself.

He smiled, turning your direction, walking towards your desk.

“Uhm, no. No, I came to… say thank you.”

Did you hit your head in the shower this morning?

“Uhm. You’re welcome, it really wasn’t a big deal.“ You mentally praised yourself for so many coherent sentences. His smile only grew wider.

“Here. Uhm, I was told you were a bit tired yesterday, so I figured you might appreciate a coffee. One’s black with sugar, which _should_ have ‘B’ on the cup, and the other one is vanilla latté with ‘V’. I had no idea which you might like.” He held out the holder for you to choose.

You definitely hit your head. What the hell? Or rather… what the heaven?

“I… you really didn’t have to do that, Matt. That’s… thank you, but… it was just a file. Anyone would do that.”

You found the V cup, taking it hesitantly as if it could explode in your hand.

“Well, for one, that’s not true, especially here, and… it’s not just for the file,” he offered with a cute smile.

It wasn’t the smile that sent your heart racing. Well, it _was_ , but also the thing he was implying— did he somehow figure out you were his… secret muffin-maker? Well, shit.

“I’m not sure-“

“People by the printers on the fourth floor are next to impossible to sneak by – that’s your words, not mine. Next to impossible, but not completely. That suggest you know how to do it. I imagine the bosses wouldn’t be happy finding out you’re using the printer to write notes for miserable blind interns, so sneaking under radar it is.”

You pressed your lips together, squeezing your eyes shut, cursing mentally. And out loud. _“Frack.”_   

“So, you know. Thank you. The muffins were delicious. They did make my day much better,” Matt assured you and an unfairly warm feeling spread in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t such a disaster he found out.

“There’s no way I’m finding a way to prove you wrong, is there?” you sighed. “You should reconsider your carrier choices, you would do a great detective. Glad it worked. I know that muffins can’t fix all the problems of the world, but occasionally, they can save the mood.”

“Not wrong there. I... uhm… the coffee is the best thank you I’m capable of. I hope my debt is paid.”

 _Well._ That made more sense. “You didn’t have to-“

“That came out wrong. I wanted to say thank you, to erase a _potential_ debt, because I was…”

You tilted your head to side, waiting what brilliant end that sentence would have. For once you weren’t the one who apparently didn’t know what to say.

“I was wondering if you would want to go for a coffee sometime? Or a dinner, maybe? Not as a thank you.”

 _Throw the incapability to speak up back on me, why don’t you_. You blinked in utter shock, your knees buckling a little. Come again? “Not… not as thank you. You’re… you’re sure of that?”

“Hundred percent positive.”

You were sure you heard wrong. Which was easily possible given how loud your pulse was in your ears.

“Oh. Uhm… yeah. Okay. Sure. Just… just to be clear, since it’s not a thank you-“

“It’s a date. If you want it to be,” he added quickly, his confidence slightly shaken.

 _“If I want it to be…”_ you muttered under your breath incredulously. “ _Is the sky blue?”_

“You tell me, it’s been a while since I’ve seen it last time,” he replied, grinning. He was _so_ not supposed to hear that. _Dammit_.

 _“Oh my_ —… yeah, last time I checked it was still blue.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out a phone, holding in out for you. “Would you enter your number in it, please? First name’s enough. I’ll call you.”

You finally set your cup down and took the phone from his hand, still not quite believing this was happening. Your fingers brushed his lightly when doing so, sending you into a cardiac arrest. _Jesus._

“Sure. You don’t have a distaste for black coffee right? Because I can totally switch the cups, I haven’t even sipped mine yet,” you mumbled as you were entering your number.

He laughed. “I like black coffee.”

“Noted. And number saved.”

You returned the phone to his extended hand. “Thanks. Dinner or coffee? I would offer a lunch, but the muffins appeared during lunch-breaks, which suggests you’re not leaving the office.”

“Detective, seriously. Dinner?” you asked, unsure.

“Dinner it is.”

\---

Dinner it was. And an amazing one. Matt picked the restaurant wisely – nice, but not too expensive, because neither of you were exactly rich (not that it mattered, because Matt was a gentleman who wouldn’t let the woman pay for the food, definitely not on the first date) _and_ that way you could have a dessert without remorse; financial one anyway.

Matt saying that your muffins were better after eating a chocolate brownie was just the icing on the cake of how… sweet he was. He was even more wonderful than you had thought, but despite becoming a lawyer and working between the sharks, he was a down-to-earth person. Not playing any… _leagues._ And you had _fun_. His sense of humour was refreshing and he was apparently more than capable of smiling and laughing as cheerfully as his friend. He was a freaking sunshine and you found yourself drawn to the warmth and light like to a magnet.

He walked you home, looking almost disappointed the night was ending, which was a sentiment you shared wholeheartedly.

“If I wasn’t so full, I would invite you upstairs. I have muffins,” you whispered as his hand travelled up your arm, wavering in the crook of your neck and he leaned closer to you.

The corners of his lips rose a little higher at your note and you were honestly regretting he was still wearing his dark red-tinged glasses. You would like to see his eyes to complete the picture.

“Well, I would say I’m sorry, but I’m actually glad. I… I really enjoyed tonight. I wouldn’t want to screw up.”

You could tell he hesitated, his thumb caressing your neck in silent question. You leaned in as well. ”I can’t really imagine you screwing it up, Matt, no matter what you would do. Unless you would wake me up now.”

“Is that a permission?” he breathed out an inch from your lips.

“It’s a plea.”

He met your lips softly, retreating too soon.

“Please, don’t wake me up,” you mumbled, not sure you wanted him to hear it.

“This is a goodnight kiss,” he reassured you lowly, kissing you again, caressing your lower lip and making your knees unfairly weak. “We’ll work our way up to a good morning one. If you’d like.”

You brought your hand to the back of his neck, keeping him close just in case he was getting any ideas and you returned the kiss, nibbling on his lips just a little. He let out a content sigh, his fingers tangling in your hair, his body shifting closer to yours.

“Probably sooner than later,” he mumbled against your mouth, making you smile and hum in agreement. You added ‘excellent kisser’ to the mental list you were making about him. _Hot. Sweet. Gentle. Funny. Smart. Ray of sunshine. Gorgeous smile. Likes black coffee and my muffins. Never should stop kissing me._

He met your lips for the last time, withdrawing with a smile, his thumb running over your jaw.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, licking your lips to savour the taste of his own.

He pecked your temple lightly, wishing you the same.

 _‘Familiar_ ,’ you added to your mental list and your heart, fluttering until the moment, started hammering in your chest wildly. Familiar voice, familiar smile, familiar gestures-

No, no, no, no, no. That was ridiculous. You were projecting again, you were-

“Clark?” you choked out, perfectly aware of how stupid it was, expecting Matt to shoot you a puzzled look and ask you about your possible ex or something.

Except Matt did no such thing. Instead, he froze and said just one word that meant you were _somehow_ , in some impossible way, right.

“Frack.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s silly and I’m grinning when writing it and posting it.


End file.
